Heart
by The Bellatrix Lestrange Forum
Summary: Over the course of a year, Rodolphus's infatuation with his wife grows, until her every action becomes a source of pain. Anonymous submission for the fourth fic exchange at the Bellatrix Lestrange Forum.
1. The Madonna

**Story written for: **Gamma Orionis

******Story guidelines as follows:**

**Prompt: **This image for inspiration: [drawing of a shirtless man proffering his bleeding heart to an uninterested woman, with text at the top reading, "I give you my heart".]

**Characters or pairings you'd like to see (optional)**: Bellatrix/Voldemort is the best pairing ;) But feel free to surprise me with other pairings or characters (preferably of the Death Eater-ish or Pureblood-ish variety)

**Likes (anything you enjoy seeing in a story)**: Dialogue-heavy fics. Requited or semi-requited Bellamort (SHUT UP). Disturbing things (violence, psychological torture, perverse sexual things, whatever. Play a game of "can I freak Gamma out?" :D). Psychological themes and disorders (bonus points for use of Freudian psychological theories). Myth or fairy tale adaptations/inspiration. Also, smut.

**Dislikes (characters, pairings, genres or anything you won't write/wouldn't like to read)**: Erm, Draco/Hermione or Draco/Harry. Extremely lighthearted things with absolutely no distressing aspects or implications.

**Disclaimer: **we own nothing.

* * *

**Heart**

_Part One: The Madonna_

_•••_

_January_

_•••_

On his wedding day, Rodolphus overheard Bellatrix speaking to Narcissa.

"I don't really love him," Bellatrix said blandly, twiddling with a wilted flower, pulling its petals off and dropping them to the ground.

In spite of the chill in the air, in spite the frost that decorated the trees with watery diamonds, in spite of the slightly overcast skies, bright light filtered in through the high windows. His fiancée's clothes glittered in the unnatural light, giving her a halo; Narcissa seemed to glow. Neither of them noticed him, just outside the door of Bellatrix's room, so he lingered a moment longer, listening as he watched the light catch on his patent shoes.

"What a horrible thing to say!" Narcissa sounded genuinely shocked.

"It's the truth. And it's not as if he loves me either, but we get along well enough, and he's from a good family. Really, that's all that matters."

Rodolphus shifted his foot, and a spark of light blinded him, momentarily.

"You should love the person you marry," Narcissa said. Rodolphus thought she sounded a bit sad, but he couldn't see her face to judge with certainty.

"You're naïve, Cissa." Rodolphus was certain the woman who would soon be his wife sounded bitter. Bitter and unhappy. And, for some reason, it gave him an unpleasant feeling … a strange tightness in his heart.

•••

_April_

_•••_

"My sister is visiting tomorrow," Bellatrix murmured, nudging Rodolphus with her elbow.

"Is this really the best time to be telling me?" he turned back to face her, very briefly, not wanting to take his eyes off the house they were watching.

She rolled her eyes. "I just wanted to let you know, since you'll be home."

He flicked his eyes towards her and – just for the barest of moments – felt his heart swell with pleasure and pride. The pleasure and pride of knowing that she cared, even just in the most simple of senses. His lips seemed to move up of their own accord; she was so good. Such a wonderfully good witch.

And at that moment, the wonderfully good witch prodded at him with the tip of her wand. "Pay attention!" she hissed.

He turned back to the house, waiting for any signs of movement within.

•••

The house belonged to a Mudblood. A woman, in fact, with curly blonde hair and oval-shaped glasses. Neither Rodolphus nor Bellatrix knew her name. They knew very little about her, besides the very obvious things, besides what their master had told them. And Lord Voldemort had not told them much – only that she was to be brought back, alive.

An automobile rumbled slowly into the driveway, headlights illuminating the garage doors. Bellatrix's lips curled back in disgust. They waited just a few moments longer, then – lights in the sitting room flickered on, and they could perceive her silhouette moving behind sheer drapery.

They pulled their masks forwards to cover their faces and, like the silent encroaching darkness, they crept towards her house, two shadows in the night. Rodolophus reached the door first, and whispered _Alohomora!_ The lock snicked, and he stood back, allowing Bellatrix to push the door open and slip inside. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he followed.

The woman was reading a book, curled up on an overstuffed chair, and didn't notice their entry. Her wand was nowhere in sight – but Rodolphus knew better than to assume she was unarmed.

_"Stupefy!"_

She barely had enough time to look up – the shock only barely registered on her face – before the spell hit her, so forcefully it knocked her back, and the chair tipped onto its hind legs, wavered a moment, suspended between two extremes, before tipping forwards, solid on the ground again.

"Well, well," Bellatrix cooed. "Look what a pretty girl we have here." She walked towards the prone woman and reached forwards to pull off her glasses. "You'd look so much better without these, you know."

And she snapped them in two, letting the broken halves fall to the floor.

Rodolphus half watched her from the hallway, where he stood guard, wand at the ready.

He heard the woman whimper, and he couldn't help but spare a glance in their direction. Bellatrix circled her chair like a cat around her prey.

"Such a very pretty girl…" She dragged her wand, held only very loosely between three fingers, across the woman's face, leaving deep gashes as she went, exposing tissue, exposing teeth.

Blood flowed down the woman's face and dripped onto the arms of the chair. Bellatrix tore a page from the woman's book and mopped up some of the blood with it, staining it a deep red and using it as a paintbrush to draw a misshapen Dark Mark on the woman's arm. She laughed softly.

"Have you ever smelled blood before?" Bellatrix shoved the bloody paper under the woman's nose. "Yours smells awful, Mudblood. Do you smell that? It's repulsive. _You're_ repulsive, you ugly" – she withdrew a knife and pressed it deep into the woman's cheeks, until she met with bone, "little" – she traced the knife downwards towards the chin, holding the instrument with her fist, trembling with adrenaline and rage, "_mudblood_" – she spat the word and punctuated it with a twist of her knife, "_whore_." She dug the knife into the woman's chest, just far enough to slice her left breast in half. Blood spurted outwards and Bellatrix leapt back to avoid being spattered with it. At the same time, she loosened her grip on her knife, and the expression of pure hatred on her face was slowly replaced by one of glee.

Bellatrix laughed.

"Everything well in there, Bella?"

She turned halfway towards the hallway, then halted and turned back. "_Expelliarmus!" _she snapped, and the woman's wand flew towards her, having emerged from her sleeve.

"All's well." Bellatrix moved into the hallway. "You fix her back up so she doesn't bleed to death, I'll watch out here."

Rodolphus took her place in the brightly lit room, a sneer on his face. The woman's head lolled to the side, dripping blood everywhere. He muttered a series of healing spells, intentionally doing a poor job, fixing her only well enough to keep her alive. The bisected breast he left split, only bothering a quick spell to stem the bleeding. Somehow, the thought of that whore's chest massacred as such made him smile.

And in the back of his mind, he thought of his wife, standing in the hallway, strong and good and nothing like the crying woman before him.


	2. The Whore

**Warning: sexual content.**

* * *

**Heart**

_Part Two: The Whore_

_•••_

_August_

_•••_

"I don't want any survivors," Lord Voldemort said.

Standing at the head of a long table, two lines of Death Eaters stared back at him, listening intently to his words. But none watching so closely nor listening as intently as the witch seated directly to his right – Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus's wife. Her eyes glowed as she listened, devouring every word.

Beside her, Rodolphus fought to keep his composure.

"Do you understand what that means?"

Selwyn, Yaxley, and Avery all said, "Yes, my Lord," in a staggered, uneven mumble.

"No, you don't," Lord Voldemort said, "because I haven't explained myself."

Rodolphus saw his wife bend her head down briefly, biting back a small smirk.

"A survivor," he said, "is not just someone who lives. A survivor is someone who lives, and who then goes on to lead a proper life. Perhaps with scars, perhaps not ever forgetting us – but who lives and is well nonetheless. And do you know what that is? That is a _hero_. You leave someone alive enough, well enough to keep on living without feeling pain and terror every day of your life, and you have created a hero. We don't want heroes. We want victims, and we want casualties. A survivor breeds hope, and _hope_ is what we intend to destroy."

Bellatrix watched Lord Voldemort, and Rodolphus watched her.

"Is that clear?"

A ripple of murmured assent came from around the table.

"Very good…" Lord Voldemort turned towards Bellatrix. "Tell me, Bella, what would you do to ensure there are no survivors?"

"I would do anything for you, my Lord."

"That's very nice," he said wryly, "but not very specific."

Rodolphus could have sworn he saw the two share a smile, could have sworn he saw his wife smile at Lord Voldemort, like a _whore._ He felt his chest constricting, and he fought to keep himself in check, but the pain, like his heart was simultaneously being squeezed and tickled, was too much. His vision faded, just for a moment. He couldn't even tell if he was angry or hurt or something else entirely – maybe he was just dying – all he knew was that he could barely hear, barely see, and his heart was aching and his wife was cooing at their leader, acting like a Mudblood whore.

He could hurt her, he could disfigure her, he could …

She nudged him.

His arm seemed to tingle where she had touched it, but he no longer wanted to hurt her. She was so good, really.

He took a deep breath, and watched the way her hair moved and shimmered, imagining that she was looking back at him with the same adoration in her eyes that he had only ever seen when she was looking at someone else.

•••

_December_

•••

Rodolphus watched his wife of just under a year. Their bedroom was dark – dimly lit by ensconced candles, while the light of the moon was obscured by dark and heavy curtains. He had spent nearly a year watching her, tracing each of her movements with his eyes, memorizing the lines of her body, her routines, every little flick of her wand or her hair, he had spent a year capturing every single one.

And now he watched as her arms, pale white and naked in the flickering light, reached up to pull back her hair, in a deft and sweeping movement, then slide down again as she began to shimmy out of her soot-coloured robes. They tumbled to the floor in a delicate heap at her feet, and she stepped out of the little hole they had formed around her. Her fingers fiddled with clasps, then they flung tawny clothing to the side.

In the dim and flickering light of the candles, she was naked but for the mark on her forearm.

And, naked, she turned away from the mirror and towards him.

"Leave," she said.

It took him a moment to understand what she meant. To understand that she wanted her own husband, the man who – yes, it was true – rightfully owned the very room she was standing in, to leave. And to leave while she was standing nude before him.

He could have taken her. Right then and there, he could have grabbed her arms and pinned her down – without her wand, without magic, he knew he was stronger – against the bed and fucked her. He could have hurt her and defiled her until she screamed and bled and was too hurt to even curse.

Rodolphus closed his eyes briefly. He bowed his head. And he turned, and he left his wife standing unclothed and unashamed in the middle of her room.

•••

In the hallway it was easy to imagine that he had come upon her by accident.

With his wand pressed to the door, he could spy on her through the one-way hole he made, and he could watch her performance on the bed, all while believing that it was him she wanted. That she was there, alone, because he simply hadn't been available when she needed him.

It was dark and cold, and his cock strained against his robes as he watched his wife fucking herself, squirming with her eyes sealed tightly shut, and in his mind he heard her gasping his name.

_Rodolphus, Rodolphus, Rodolphus…_

_I need you._

With his free hand he reached down, biting his lip and running his hand across the length of himself. His teeth drew blood.

In his mind, he was fucking her, that unquestionable whore.

_Oh yes, oh god, yes!_

_Rodolphus, Rodolphus..._

She writhed against the bed, and as her moans became more pronounced, his grip tightened, his pace increased… _Oh, Rodolphus!_

And he was so close, and his body was nearly convulsing, and he strained just a little bit further, and he could hear his wife's moans from inside the room, and he himself was gasping, and he almost thought he heard her say another name, but it was too quiet, and of course she had gasped _Rodolphus! _ But he strained further, and in the back of his mind he knew, but he couldn't help himself, and he thought that maybe he was lucky, and pressed his ear to the door, and he heard his own wife moaning and gasping as she convulsed and her hips arched upwards and she was oh so very nearly shrieking that one irreparably damnable name:

_"Voldemort!"_

•••

When Bellatrix emerged from the room, the manor was silent. In itself, this was not suspicious, but silence coupled with not seeing her husband emerging from some shadowy corner at her appearance was. She squinted slightly into the darkness.

Not seeing Rodolphus didn't bother her – not really, certainly not in any great capacity – but she had become so used to seeing him slipping towards her from seemingly nowhere, over the past year of their marriage, that the change was jarring as she padded down the corridor towards the kitchen.

Masturbation always did make her hungry.

She twirled her wand between her fingers as she walked, whistling an off-key, half remembered something. She was cheerful. Although it was strange to be so alone, she couldn't say she didn't like it. Really, after having gotten over the initial oddity of it, she quite relished the feeling of being able to do exactly as she pleased, without watchful eyes, without judgement.

But halfway to the kitchen, she stopped short, the tune failing at her lips, wand clattering to the floor and, in spite of all her training, bile beginning to rise in her throat.

Bellatrix gasped and fought back against a dry heave as the undeniable stench of blood engulfed her.

•••

Rodolphus reeled.

His wand hit the floor and bounced slightly. Like a dying fish, he opened and closed his mouth, too startled to even know where to begin forming words. He sat down heavily, painfully, and he felt very clearly the shock of pain and the sensation of his cock becoming flaccid.

_Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort…_

The name echoed in his head, over and over, _Voldemort, Voldemort! _And he could hear her screams, he could hear her voice, and he could hear that one name, over and over…

_Voldemort!_

He managed to get up, slowly, laboriously, and he staggered down the hall, wand in hand, hearing that name at every footfall; every click of his shoes brought forth another cry of a name not his own.

_Oh, Voldemort, Voldemort…!_

And his wife was there, behind closed doors, crying it out, again and again, that _whore._ He halted under a painting of Efnisien the Mad.

_I would do anything for you, my Lord. _He raised his wand. _Voldemort … Voldemort…_. He whispered the incantation. _I don't really love him. _And in his mind he pictured her …

And his heart poured out, into his hand, and he held it – wet, bleeding, warm – and he keeled over backwards, and his eyes went glassy, staring sightlessly at the stone ceiling, and his breath rasped, and his heart bled onto his chest.

And he felt no pain.


End file.
